


it feels so natural

by phanetixs



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, a bit of my 2019 prophecy, a legitimate Proposal fic of sorts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 19:21:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17106623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phanetixs/pseuds/phanetixs
Summary: Dan scoffs, moving closer to him and cupping his cheeks with his cold, cold palms. “No, you dingus. I want you to propose to me.”Or, a rather unorthodox proposal with Dan and Phil.





	it feels so natural

**Author's Note:**

  * For [det395](https://archiveofourown.org/users/det395/gifts).



> hiii! this was a pinch hit, so, i wrote the first idea that came to mind when i saw this great prompt: accidental proposal at the same time. it veers off a bit, but I really hope you like it (as I do with all /your/ fics, jen, they're wonderful!) 
> 
> thank you to [quercussp](quercussp.tumblr.com) for going over this and being so encouraging!
> 
> enjoy!

“2019’s in a _month_. Jesus on a stick. We’re getting old,” Phil laments while channel-surfing on the telly with his socked feet sideways on the sofa.

There’s a snort to his left. “I think Jesus would protest being put on a dirty stick. And _I_ protest you calling me old, you numpty. I’m young and great. Fabulous, even. Sharpay-fucking-Evans would be jealous. _And_ I have skin as smooth as a baby’s bum - here, feel,” Dan replies, shoving his arm in Phil’s face, jostling the remote.

“I concur, baby,” Phil sighs, probably to get him to shut up, and instead, grabs the hand so rudely brandished in front of him. Runs his palm down the forearm and tangles their fingers together.

It’s a quiet evening in November. Tour’s ended and there’s no-fucking-where to go for once this year, and it’s like their lives are revolving at normal speed again. They can afford to be lazy, boring, snog for hours in bed because there’s no ungodly hour meeting to attend, or last-minute deadlines to meet. It’s a good look on them, even if Dan’s always itching for something new to fill his creative void.

“You should call me baby more often, I think,” Dan tells him authoritatively, keeping his eyes locked on Gordon Ramsey on the telly.

Phil thinks he’s blushing. He coos, “Aw, are you blushing, _baby_?  Want to be my baby, yeah? Mariah’s done a number on you.” See, the Mariah playlists are worth _something_ in this household, contrary to popular - Dan’s - belief. This is ultimate proof.

“Don’t let it go to your ‘ead. I just meant, we can afford to be more tactile and affectionate, yeah? Tour’s over now. What do the lads say, hm? The world is our _oyster_.”

Phil looks on, unimpressed. “I’m from the North - most laddy place there is - and I’ve never heard that in _my life_.” The sentiment still stands, though - Dan’s right. This tour (more than the last) shed brighter light on the nature of their relationship; even if it’s not said aloud, there will be no disillusionment on that front. Glass closet, Phil thinks it’s called.

Dan smacks his arm - he must have zoned out. “Phil. You twat. We’re having a discussion here.”

“Sorry, sorry,” he says, “what were you saying?”

“I want to get married,” Dan says, lips chewed raw and tangled fingers and all. Ringlets of curly hair falling over his forehead and his clavicles prominent under his thin t-shirt, forgotten spot of ketchup on his pants. He’s the absolute love of Phil’s life, when he’s not being confusing.

“What? In _this_ economy?” Phil asks, first thing that comes to mind.

Dan looks perplexed, but when is he not in Phil’s presence, really. “Yes? I’m not going to let the fucking _Tories_ stop us from marital bliss, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

Phil wasn’t wondering, is the thing.

The abstract notion of a _marriage_ always lived in the backburner of his mind, in a secret box labelled “Open when We Reach Consensus about Brexit” - basically never - and guarded tight by a swarm of stinging bees. But when he _has_ pondered this social construct before, well - two distinct caveats come to mind: 1) he would have to be well-off and comfortable and _happy_ to be doing it and 2) he would have to be marrying Dan Howell. No question about it.

“Phil,” Dan interrupts then, nervously shaking his shoulder. “What are you thinking?”

“I am thinking...well. Was that - what you said, was that...a _proposal_?” he asks, aghast, when the meaning of Dan’s words dawn on him.

Like, Dan, quote, _wants to get married,_ unquote. Does he want to get married to _Phil_? Or just, in general? Or maybe he wants to get married to pizza, or their Game of Thrones box set? Probable, since Dan’s propensity to statements like those are quite high.

Dan scoffs, moving closer to him and cupping his cheeks with his cold, cold palms. “No, you dingus. I want _you_ to propose to _me_.”

Ah. Well then.

 

-

 

Phil feels a bit cheated.

Pregnant women get nine months to prepare for a change in their lives, don’t they? Nine whole months to buy prams and learn how to Mother and change diapers. And adjust to the feeling of a new addition to their lives, a seismic shift.

Since Phil is decidedly not a woman, the closest Big Decision in his life would be marriage, he thinks. Like actual _nuptials_ \- whatever that means - and being able to call Dan his _husband_ instead of business partner, or more nebulously, his _friend_.

He  _would_ be ready, had the idea not been sprung on him - within a sentence, on their sofa and settling in for a quiet night. He would be ready, he figures, if he had stumbled upon the realisation himself - pondering anxiously if Dan would want something like that, something like that with _him_. They’ve spoken about it over the years, extemporaneous mentions here and there in the seclusion of nighttime, but what Dan did - how directly he said it - still took him by surprise.

He needed it, though. Part of him thinks he needed to have skipped the anxious, bubbling thoughts and the constant worry. Trying to gauge Dan’s perspective with poorly concealed questions, and inevitably giving up midway through because Dan _doesn’t give straight answers_. And Phil’s too dense sometimes to wrap his head around subtext and hidden meaning - Dan’s two greatest gifts to humanity.

Besides, Phil’s a pretty random lad. He randomly started a rambly Youtube channel and within a few years, he somehow procured a million subscribers and a job in _London_ on the _radio._ He randomly replied to this boy on the Internet, and the boy turned out to be the absolute best person in Phil’s life. He offhandedly mentioned a possible stage show in conversation and now, they’ve done two. He was sitting on a sofa one Tuesday night and got quasi-proposed to within an hour.

He should be used to the feeling of never quite being ready, but of things just _happening_ anyway.

So, it was good, he decides after a restless night in bed, that Dan decided to crack open the ominous Box. Surprising, scary and other similar words, but fundamentally, good.

Now, he has to figure out what exactly to do about it all.

 

-

 

He realises he should _probably_ buy a ring at some point - his mum reminded him all about it after a good five minutes of high-pitched squealing when Phil told her.

A week later, he faces a choice between that _or_ playing another round of Mario Kart (because Dan’s away for the weekend with Bryony and he has a decent chance of winning, for once) but the coin flipped tails, so. No more moping and missing Dan.

Their relationship has been slightly strained since the Confrontation. Dan seems a bit on edge, like he’s waiting for Phil to _do_ something, and then goes to bed upset when it doesn’t happen. Thing is, Phil wants to make it perfect. If he’s going to propose, he’s going to try his level best to make sure there’s no room for hesitation on Dan’s part - though, given current circumstances, that would be hard to find - and that Dan would be happy. Happier than ever. That’s the goal.

Yeah, he probably needs that ring.

He doesn’t think that Dan would like anything traditional - something edgy, perhaps. Something black and dark and beautiful, to match the person wearing it. But also, with a bit of light peeking out through the sides, like the optimism that still reveals itself - much to Dan’s cynical disdain - when he talks vaguely about the future. About his future life - by extension, his life with Phil.

With that in mind, a spring in his step, he visits Camden and South London; all the small jewellery shops he would walk past before without so much as a glance - the Box was tightly sealed, wasn’t it.

He doesn’t find much in the first three; he hesitantly walks in the fourth with deflating spirit. He’s greeted by a tall woman at the front.

“Good afternoon, sir, I’m Marie. How can I help?”

“I’m, uh,” he stops. “Can we talk in private?”

She looks baffled, but schools it quickly in clear professionalism and nods, leads him to a corner. Part of being one half of a sort-of closeted Internet- popular gay couple has made him always wary, constantly watching for that dangerous flicker of recognition. It’s _exhausting_.

Here, he finds none.

“I’m looking for a ring for… my boyfriend.” He forgot how liberating it felt to be completely honest. “I have an idea, but, I’m open to suggestions.”

She smiles softly. “Yes, sir, and what do you have in mind?”

 

-

 

There’s a gorgeous ring.

After an hour of scouring, he finds an Earth black onyx for a stone with tiny little gems surrounding it, a simple silver band to hold it together. He breathes, “That, _that_.” And sees a grin appear on Marie’s face, a quirk in her eyebrow. “This one, Mr Lester?” She lifts the box from the glass case.

His breath catches in his throat, utterly transfixed in the way the stone is reflective on one side but entirely opaque on the other - the dark gradient would be Dan’s favourite thing, he’s sure - with the surrounding pieces completely shiny under the bright store lights. It’s blinding, the way Dan is when you first make him smile, but impossibly, gets prettier the more you look at it.

It’s also within his price range.

He’s sure that’s the _one_ \- Gollum probably felt this way too - and there are tears in his eyes to prove it; utterly overwhelmed. The Dan Voice in his head says, “ _Such a sap, Phil Lester_ ,” but he shakes it off with a small smile.

" _Yeah._  Yeah, can you ring this up, please?” After a beat, “Hah, pun intended.”

 

-

 

There’s a good few days when he has the ring but isn’t quite sure how to do  _it_ yet.

Much to Dan’s annoyance, he’s sure. He’s caught enough of Dan’s looks to know that he’s getting much too impatient of waiting - he might even propose himself.

 

(Phil vaguely remembers an old conversation - 2012, lying under the stars and Dan’s face illuminated in moonlight. It’d been a rough patch - too rough, Phil thinks, to have survived relatively unscathed. But they did, and it was primarily due to the talk they had then, drunk on rum.

“Do you still want to be with me?” Dan asked, looking intently at Orion’s Belt. He was worrying his bottom lip and his fingers were clenched at the hem of his jumper and Phil could only think, _do you know how much I love you?_

“Yes, always,” Phil said reverently, quiet in the calmness of the night. “I will love you until,” he tipped the half-empty bottle at the balls of gas over their heads, “the stars burn out.”

“Poetic,” Dan retorted, a genuine smile, something Phil hadn’t seen since months prior, appearing on his face. “We’re going to get through this, aren’t we?” And the _this_ went unspoken - the arguments, the visible decline of Dan’s mental health; the way they both seemed to be slipping underneath, pulled apart by the tides of fame and gut-wrenching fear of being called a _bunch of poofs_ by their burgeoning audience.

There were drunk on alcohol and nighttime confessions, though, and impossibly, things felt better.

“We are,” Phil replied, holding his hand publicly (if only in a deserted Kensington Gardens) for the first time in awhile. “And I’m going to marry you someday.”

Dan looked at him, amused. “Yeah, where’d you figure that out?”

“No, no, I _am_. I’m going to stand atop Big Ben and yell about how much I love you, and you’ll _have_ to marry me, I reckon.”

Dan blushed. “You’re  _drunk_ , you dummy. And what if _I_ propose, hm? Drag you into some sewer or summat and say, “Hey you’re a rat. Here are rats. Will you fucking marry me?”

Phil laughed wildly, too wildly for two people who were illegally drunk on government property past midnight. “Shut up, shut _up_ ,” Dan said, swatting Phil’s arm, carding a hand through his too-long fringe, grinning too.

“Also,” Phil said after the last bout of giggles subsided, “you can’t propose because  _I’m_ proposing.”

Dan looked at him, scoffed. “And who told you that? Only acceptable answers: Jesus or that guy who fixed our annoying leaky tap earlier - legend. Or, Fabrice, maybe.”

Phil flipped on his side, rustling the blanket underneath them, and came nose-to-nose with Dan. Nuzzling their noses together, he said, “I _know_ you. You’d want me to do it. So, I probably will. One day, not very soon, I’ll do it.”

And Dan didn’t say anything to that, kissed him instead.)

 

So, Dan’s impatient, but, Phil...he can’t _rush_ the creative process. After years of making videos together, Dan should know as much, too. A proposal is intricate, needs tending to - like the wilting begonias in their garden. Phil’s not too concerned, though - about the proposal; he kinda _is_ worried about their dying plants - because he has a foolproof, excellent, _Olympic-winning_ game plan:

  1. Call Dan’s dad. That’s probably a good idea.
  2. Just fucking propose.



Sounds about right.

 

-

 

There’s a solid ten seconds of silence and heavy breathing.

“So,” Dan’s father says lowly, “are you just...not going to speak? Is this for a video or summat?” Richard has always been wary of YouTube - since the beginning, and _especially_ since those prank videos started going viral. Phil thinks it’s just his way of justifying his initial intransigence towards Dan’s career change. Law and Video Creator, on the massive Venn diagram of Socially-Acceptable Jobs, just don’t overlap.

“Sir,” Phil says.

Richard scoffs. “Wow, I can’t remember the last time you called me sir. I _do_ distinctly remember, though, you being shirtless that time I walked into Dan’s room when you were Skyping.”

He’s always been intimidating like that. And Phil’s always been apprehensive - though outwardly all sunshine and smiles because he refused to be _that_ barrier in the family - to discuss personal matters with him without Dan’s presence, but this is _important_ , isn’t it. That he knows. That he  _approves._

Not that Phil thinks he wouldn’t, anyway. Their relationship has largely improved in the last decade or so, from stiff handshakes (2009, shaggy-haired) to tentative hugs (2018, about to embark on their second tour). Even if Richard didn’t like the boy his son was dating - where _did you meet him_ , Richard had asked Dan incredulously - Phil thinks Richard would have been cordial anyway. There’s no mistaking the fondness he has for Dan, through the fights and turbulent years and physical distance splitting them further and further apart, Manchester to London to various cities around the world.

More confidently, Phil says, “Yes. We’ve come a long way since then.”

Richard laughs, a booming cackle much like Dan’s. “That we have, Phil, that we have. Now, what’s this about, then? What has Dan done?”

Phil smiles to himself.

(The last time they’d spoken on the phone like this, Richard was telling him to move out of their old London flat and give Dan some space. “He called me on the phone,  _crying_ ,” Richard told him, desperate. “I don’t  _ever_ want to hear him like that again, Phil. You’re a good boy but not good for him.”

Phil told him no, and took Dan out that night to fix it, fix _them_ , for real.)

“I, well,” Phil says, lost in his thoughts, “I think - uh, I _know_ I’m proposing to Dan soon.”

Richard stutters. “Y-y-you’re...okay.” He audibly heaves a deep breath.

Phil gives an amused retort, “All right?”

“I’m just,” Richard pauses then, and he hears a sniffle. Phil’s stomach plummets, and Richard says, “surprised you asked me.”

Phil’s heart breaks. “Of course. Even if we weren’t on good terms...I would’ve asked you.”

Richard lets out a noisy breath. “Y’know, I didn’t like you, initially.” To which Phil lets out a short laugh because even a blind man would’ve noticed the tension at the dinner table that first night they’d formally met; Phil giving staccato-like answers while being stared down by a man who looked like he belonged in the Armed Forces. Thus, _intimidating_ will always be the first word Phil associates with his future _father-in-law_ \- god, that term gives Phil butterflies.

“I didn’t like you because I thought you were taking my son away from me, and I was right.”

 _Everything_ stops.

“He met you, and within a year you wrangled him to Manchester. He met you and decided he didn’t want to read Law anymore. What was I supposed to think,” Richard says, and Phil stares at the floorboard, palm sweaty underneath his phone.

Dan always tells him that Phil was the catalyst to those changes, how miserable he would’ve been had he not upended his life. Phil never stopped to think about how _much_ it affected the very people who set him on that track to begin with.

“I was - I am in love with him. I’m sorry if that...upsetted you,” Phil replies hesitantly. He didn’t _mean_ to cock it all up, but, he’ll _never_ apologise for loving Dan. There’s a fine distinction to be drawn there - between Fate and consequence.

“I’m not upset he met you, Phil,” Richard says after a bit, adopting a measured tone. “How could I - when he’s clearly the happiest with you. That’s all I’ve ever wanted, and _I’m_ sorry if I made you feel less than you’re worth in Dan’s life. I’m glad he met you.”

Phil’s close to tears now, and wants so badly for Dan to be home so he can cuddle him close and kiss him loud and long.

“Wow,” Phil says, watery giggle. “Better save that for your wedding speech.”

“Planning to, bud,” Richard tells him, resolute. “Now, about that proposal -”

 

-

 

Bryony drops Dan off after their little “girls only” getaway, and Phil greets her at the door.

She gives him an instant unimpressed look. “Hello there.”

“Oookay then,” Phil replies slowly, when it’s clear there’s some _thing_ in the air. Phil wants to protest, “I didn’t do it!” but then he kind of has to _know_ what he hasn’t done, right? But Bryony’s always been a passive-aggressive little shit, so, she’ll probably prolong the silent treatment for her own satisfaction. And Dan’s, too, because Phil has the distinct feeling this is his doing.

Phil invites her inside to, at least, be comfortable while ignoring him. Never call Phil Lester a bad host.

“Crisps? Tea?”

She says nothing.

“Coffee?” Last option; Bryony thinks coffee is the scum of the Earth.

“Blergh,” she finally says, tongue out in disgust. “You’re a wanker, Phil Lester.”

“I know, and a good one at that,” Phil says with a grin when her face scrunches up even more. “Now that’s out of the way, what’s up?”

He’s pulled away from the stoop of their flat building, away to the road, and Bryony looks around warily like they’re spies at a clandestine meeting. _Is_ she a spy, though, Phil wonders. She’s smart enough to cut a biatch, that’s for sure, and she’s kicked him in the nuts twice in the past year alone.

“Ok, now, spill.”

Phil looks at her confusedly.

She scoffs, and stares at him for a good two minutes - at least five cars and a London tour bus pass - waiting for him to catch up. “What _else_ could I be talking about, Philip? Christ, can you stop being dense on purpose, it’s annoying me.”

Oh. _Oh._ “You mean the proposal?”

“Yes, I mean the proposal, you twisted spork.” It’s no wonder Dan and Bryony get on so well, Phil muses, they have a shared affinity for creating curse words - usually directed at Phil.

“Well,” Phil says, purposely drawing the syllable out. “Well. Uh. Yeah, it’s happening.”

She lets out a frustrated noise. “That’s not going to fucking do, Phil. Dan spent our weekend complaining about you. Do you know how _exhausting_ that was - we were on a beach - ok, it was a frozen lake, stop giving me that look - for _Christ’s_ sake.”

Phil smirks. “Ah, well, all _you_ need to know is that it’s happening _quite soon_.” And it is. He’s just booked a lovely dinner at a London hotel in two weeks for the proposal, and then a pass to Kensingtons at night. Full circle, Phil thinks.

“I don’t think Dan can wait for _quite soon_. I think he’s got the itch to get hitched, ay,” Bryony finger-guns, raises an eyebrow and waits for Phil to acknowledge her joke - _excellent_ , but Phil’s not going to tell her that. She pouts when he doesn’t.

Phil has a question instead. “Did Dan tell you why he’s in a rush for this? God knows he’s spoken more to you about this than me - all he’s done is give me weird faces.”

Bryony gives him an intense look, like a bunch of different emotions at once. “He’s not in a _rush_ , Phil. Nine years isn’t a rush - it’s a fucking marathon. And newsflash, babe, you’ve been together for _that_ long; of course he wants to get married. Because he’s loved you for years and _years_ and you two are finally ready to do something about it now.”

“Is that what he said?”

Bryony snorts. “No, that’s what I, and everybody with a Dan and Phil stan Twitter account, collectively think. And we’re very smart, you should listen to us.”

Phil thinks she’s right. “Soon, soon,” he reminds her finally, excited at the prospect. Conversely, he’s never been so nervous for something, not since the last Mortal Kombat came out.

“Alright,” she says, mollified. “Methinks thy loverboy is awaiting thy arrival, shall we moveth to the upstaireth, mine steed?”

Phil grins and takes her hand.

 

-

 

There’s dinner on the Friday before he’s due to propose.

Dan famously decided to make some curry and heat up those pre-made _roti_ from Waitrose and order that masala chicken from Raju’s because he can’t quite nail the recipe. It’s tradition, though: monthly date night with homemade food. They alternate - gives Dan the chance to show off his Heston skills and Phil’s ability to put out a kitchen fire when he has to.

They finish up, talk about nothing, really, except how Bryony’s doing and how the neighbour’s cat has an ear infection so his balance is fucked. It’s nice, nights like these, to hook his ankle around Dan’s and rub his thumb soothingly across Dan’s knuckles like it’s the key to the universe. And for Dan to dimple and fiddle with his hair and get messy stains on his shirt.

Phil really thinks they’re heading to sexytime, so that’s fun, too. Fun to rile Dan up with a hand high on his thigh while they’re lounging on the sofa, to lean in to whisper in his ear (though they’re the only ones around) and watch a flush creep up Dan’s neck.

“Hey,” Phil says, kissing his cheek, “I love you.”

Because it’s important that Dan knows, and that he believes it.

Dan looks to him, surprised, and then closes his eyes.

Phil looks at him warily.

Dan opens them again. Then he looks subdued, eyes flitting around beside Phil like he’s looking for something. “Oh,” Dan breathes.

“Yes?” Phil asks.

“Is there anything you want to ask me?”

Dan’s ring is in the corner of their bookshelf - behind Phil’s fantasy novels and the Nigella cookbook - and he doesn’t have it _now_ , is the thing. Phil bites his lip, shakes his head.

Dan says again, “Oh.”

He excuses himself to bed soon after that.

 

-

 

He has other opportunities over the week - lazy nights and early mornings on their terrace in the morning sun - but nothing quite as perfect as he’s planned it. They just have to wait, just a few more days, until it’s all set.

A few times Dan opens his mouth like he’s due to say something, brows furrowed, but clamps up immediately after Phil turns to him. It’s a bit worrying; it looks like Dan’s holding himself back from saying something important - is he having _second thoughts_? Phil wills himself to stay optimistic, but, his enthusiasm is dwindling a bit. For the proposal part of it. Once that’s done, he will be the happiest man alive.

So, yes, there are other opportunities. And some days Dan goes to bed with a huff and rolls over like he’s afraid of touching Phil and his cooties. A bit too late for that, Phil jokes one night when it happens, _nine_ years too late. Then, Dan opens his mouth. Shuts it. The cycle continues.

 

-

 

The day arrives at last!

He’s ready. In some abstract way he is. Or at least he’s telling himself that so he doesn’t look like a complete mess in front of Dan: his future _fiancé_ , please please please. He hopes the good karma he’s accumulated - mostly from holding the lift doors open for the residents of their flat building - will pay off.

Phil tells him to get ready for an “unironically lit” night out because he’s feeling “particularly festive” and “wants to see the pretty Christmas lights” now that it’s mid-December and because he’s made reservations at a posh restaurant.

They both look good. Dan looks the best, obviously, in his fancy shirt and tight jeans and beanie. Proper hipster look, that is.

They take a quiet stroll along the streets with the decoration and lights before they head to the restaurant, Phil trailing behind Dan slightly. The maître d' walks Dan up to the table and Phil inconspicuously passes him the ring box to hide in their massive chocolate cake for dessert and Phil feels lighter without the small twenty cubic inch cube weighing on him.

“All right?” Dan asks when Phil taps his fingers nervously against the tablecloth.

“Never better,” Phil says seriously, and Dan grins. Of all the places he’s gone, things he’s seen, they've never quite compared to being tucked away with Dan and being able to make him smile.

They plow through the appetizers and main course of the Italian dinner - “ _I never thought I’d have too_ much _pasta, but here we are_ ” - and before long, the waiter comes up to them to ask for dessert. Dan says, no, please, my stomach is about to burst, right as Phil says the opposite.

“Uh -” Phil stammers. “Dan, s’ just some cake,” he cajoles.

Dan looks a bit irritated, about to voice his complaint, but then, there’s a gasp at another table. A chocolate cake and a ring and - _wait._

Phil turns, frantically looking for the man in-charge. At the table, the poor man looks at his date in complete shock, and the woman looks ecstatic and she’s dabbing her eyes furiously, and Phil wants to shout, _that’s my fucking ring!_

Phil turns to Dan, just as the man is apologising profusely; registering the mistake, and sees that Dan’s red with anger, and is brimming with frustrated tears.

“Why is _everyone_ getting married except us?” Dan whispers, and Phil’s heart clenches in his chest.

“Baby, _baby_ ,” Phil says, trying to tell him.

Dan shakes his head. “ _No_ , Phil. I won’t fucking take it anymore,” Dan says, first wave of tears spilling, and it sounds so much like a breakup, Phil thinks, closing his eyes and bracing for the inevitable devastation of whatever Dan’s about to say.

But no, _no,_ that’s the love of his life right there. Fuck perfect timing, perfect setting; fuck it all.

“That’s your ring!” he whisper-shouts.

“Will you fucking marry me, you dingus?” And Dan pulls out _another_ ring.

 _What_.

“What?” they gasp, simultaneously. After a moment or two, they both let out helpless little giggles and lean further into each other like they can’t believe the situation is real, that it’s _happening_ , ridiculous as it is. His ring is returned then - the maître d' apologising too many times (and offering them a discount, which Phil is absolutely planning to take _full_ advantage of) to understand the gravity of the situation in front of him, the elephant in the room. _Him_ , the elephant, and he needs to leave.

Dan looks at the ring between Phil’s fingers, slightly smudged in chocolate, stares. And smiles so bright.

Phil speaks first in the silence that follows the man’s welcomed departure. “Is that for - when did you buy it?” He gestures to the ring in Dan’s palm.

And it’s the best ring, it really is. The gem is blue and green and slightly yellow, like his eyes, and all show different shades whenever he blinks and looks again. Phil can already imagine it on his finger forever. It’s  _perfect_.

“I’ve had it for a few years. Was jus’ waiting to give it to you,” Dan says simply, smiling so wide his eyes are almost completely shut.

Phil’s jaw drops. “But. But, then, why did you ask _me_ to propose?”

Dan says, sliding the ring on Phil’s finger. “You needed a bit of a push, love. And remember Kensingtons?”

“Yeah,” Phil says, in awe. “ _Of course._  See, I said I’d do it. Didn’t have to doubt me like that,” he jokes.

“I didn’t!” Dan replies defensively- though, he totally did. “I saw this ring and was like. What the heck, might as well. _In this economy_ , you know.” Dan mimics Phil's tone, smirks. That gorgeous man, his  _fiancé._

“This ring is perfect. You’re perfect. Can’t wait to marry you and spend the rest of my life with you and maybe say parts of my proposal speech that I planned _before_ all this was so royally messed up-” he shoots a belated glare at the now vacated table on his right.

“Down, boy,” Dan laughs, putting a hand on Phil’s - and it looks so criminal without the ring on his fourth finger. Phil breathes, “May I,” and Dan says, “ _Yes_ , yes, I will fucking marry you, so worried y’wouldn’t want to.”

And forget YouTube, worldwide tours, awards, books, their stupid jokes and the miscellaneous happy events in between -  it’s _incredible:_  the way Phil feels with his best person, in the second best moment of his life.

The first will be the day Phil marries him, no doubt about that.

 

**Author's Note:**

> as i said earlier, the fic is pretty ridiculous, but thank you for reading! i'm also @phanetixs on tumblr and twitter :)
> 
> happy chrysler and all that from your friendly neighbourhood grinch 
> 
> [fic post](http://phanetixs.tumblr.com/post/181523940119/fic-it-feels-so-natural)


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